


Merry Christmas, Molly

by Starlithorizon



Series: Molly Hooper, Deliverer of Souls [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Friendship, Gen, I just really love this friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 06:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's another 221B Christmas, and Molly gets to spend it with all the people she cares about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry Christmas, Molly

**Author's Note:**

> There might be more Christmas from someone else's point of view soon, cause really, I have some good ideas (especially from one of my drunken fellows) that will provide me much merriment and cheer. I dunno. These are things that might happen.

The world was covered in that lovely, sparkling, multicolor haze that meant Christmas. The air had a vicious bite to it, and Molly shrugged deeper into her coat as she stepped out of her flat. The pavement was dark with trampled snow, and her high heels were so much less than practical. Just as she was contemplating going back to grab another, more useful pair of shoes, a black car pulled up.

She smiled and got in gratefully, melting into the heated interior with a pleased sigh. She put her bag of gifts on the seat beside her and grinned up at Mycroft, sitting up front. He dipped his head in greeting, offering one of those smiles that she knew was special.

Anthea looked up from her Blackberry and grinned.

"I like your hair," she commented before going back to her mobile. Molly thanked her anyway and noted the flawless emerald green dress, skinny black belt, matching shoes and gloves. Anthea was always impeccable, and her red lipstick always looked good. She was like that Adler woman in that respect, always perfectly done up in a way that Molly could only imitate weakly, rather like a little girl dressing up in her mum's clothes.

Molly was dressed much more simply. Her makeup was much less noticeable, but she liked to think that she looked good, at least. She still remembered catching a glimpse of Greg's face when she took her coat off that year, and she knew that this dress would have a similar reaction.

"Thanks for this," she said to Mycroft once the car was on its way. His smile grew slightly, and nodded his head again, as though agreeing with her.

"I certainly couldn't let you take the bus to Baker Street," he said, waving a hand slightly. Every time he gestured, Molly was always entranced by the movement. There was something so precise about it, about every step he took, every twitch of his finger, every tilt of the head. It was calculated, even if it wasn't noticed. She understood that it wasn't an act. He likely did it even when he was alone.

"Right," she laughed. "Can't have a friend of Mycroft Holmes arrive in anything less posh than one of your black cars."

"Precisely."

When they arrived at the boys' flat, Mycroft took her arm and walked in with her. No one looked surprised, but Sherlock glared. He didn't like Mycroft being friends with his friends, or being in the same room, or, well, doing anything. Aside from his inevitable reaction, nothing happened. Everyone knew that she and Mycroft were friends, and that was that.

John helped her take her coat off, and like last time, she was rewarded with Greg's shocked-and-in-awe face. The dress fit her perfectly, clinging so neatly to her curves as to sharpen one's focus in their direction. It was holly berry red and picked for her by Anthea, who did, in fact, take her shopping. Always on Mycroft's card. Being friends with the British Government and his PA could do wonders for a woman's wardrobe.

Mycroft leaned in and murmured, "You have Dr Watson's attention as well."

She burst into surprised, slightly scandalized giggles.

Unlike last year, Sherlock didn't insult Molly. He simply smiled a bit, offered a genuine thank-you for his gift (a new scarf, just like the old one but in shades of deep purple), and kissed her on the cheek again. Soon, everyone had exchanged presents and gotten closer to _drunk_ than was normally allowed on a weeknight. It was Christmas Eve, though, and they were allowed to drink.

Though, to be fair and honest, everyone drank but Mycroft and Sherlock. Even Anthea partook. She drank whiskey neat, just like Molly had always wanted to. She could never quite strike up the confidence to ask for it in a pub, though. She liked it, too, developed a taste after spending time with Mycroft. She settled for wine.

Mrs Hudson cajoled Sherlock into playing something befitting the season, and he burst into a series of cheery carols that had everyone (even Mycroft) singing along. John and Greg, who had had the most to drink, sang the loudest and the proudest and congratulated each other (loudly) at the end of the musical portion of the night.

At the end of the night, Greg ended up passing out on the sofa, with John passed out on the coffee table of all places. Molly wobbled a bit, so she took off her shoes, knowing full well that she would regret it between the flat and the car, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She kissed Sherlock on the cheek, unable to stop herself from blushing (old habits die hard), and kissed Mrs Hudson too. Just to be safe.

Mycroft led her down the stairs, taking it slowly so that she could properly get a grip on the walking thing. Anthea, who had had far more to drink than Molly had, practically glided. Glid? Whatever, she was graceful as ever.

Mycroft even went so far as to walk Molly into her flat, sitting her on the sofa and putting her shoes beside her, where she would remember them in the morning. She curled up where she was, and the last thing she remembered before falling asleep was a blanket being pulled over her and a quiet, "Merry Christmas, Molly."

* * *

When she woke the next morning with the edges of a hangover (thank God she hadn't drunk any more than she had, or Christmas with her family would be hell), she discovered the glass beside the sink and the little dish with two paracetamol tablets waiting for her. There was a sticky note on the fridge wishing her a merry Christmas and letting her know that she had three days off instead of just the two. She took her medicine and thanked God that she was friends with the British Government.

**Author's Note:**

> I might play a bit more with Molly and Anthea's friendship, too. That seems like a fun idea.


End file.
